


Sooky Bird

by Scrumpadouchus



Series: Polyphony in Parts [4]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Xayah gets Sooked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22250572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrumpadouchus/pseuds/Scrumpadouchus
Summary: Sooking:(Adj. Verb. Adverb. Noun.) /sʊk/: To whine, look for attention, look to be babied or taken care of.  Also see;Sooky,sook, andsooked.
Relationships: Rakan/Xayah (League of Legends)
Series: Polyphony in Parts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/974331
Comments: 7
Kudos: 77





	Sooky Bird

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! I wrote this as a commission for snootwoot, a pal from Rakan mains, as she was sick this past week. Also, please forgive me, I'm working on polyphony ~~And primagravita~~  
>  and I'm gonna update as soon as I can! ;u; 12 hour shifts have killed my productivityyyy.

  
\------------------------------------------------------------

_Something’s wrong_ . 

Xayah’s slouching, movements slowed, tired. _Xayah never gets weak like this_. But yet, their pace has been slowing . _Slow, slow, snow~_

_Maybe, the area was getting to her_ . _Low magic. Hard on her smaller body_. Rakan breathes in slow through his nose, burns his nostrils with the frost. Sounds are quiet here. The song is calm. _No! Not calm. Sluggish? Stagnant_? Violins out of tune. No rosin. No hunger. Just a queasy drag. 

He doesn’t like it here. But he’ll go where ever she goes, whether Tuula or Tevasa. He _promised_ , and he’ll follow forever. 

The path they walk, a frozen kingdom of plains and hills. The long boughs of the few trees they pass slough under the weight of snow, bowing down to greet them. _The forest, we need the forest_. _We’re too exposed to the wind here_. Xayah has been navigating for hours, tracing stars in the long dusk of winter, leading the way. There’s a formidable hill still in front of them. Then Xayah sighs, barely audible amongst the falling snow. Then, she _sniffles_. 

She lifts her arm and wipes her royal blue sleeve across her face. 

Rakan’s heart constricts, clenching like it’s caught in a fist with pity as he watches her struggles through the snow drifts. He lunges towards her in leaps and bounds, scattering flakes from his feet with ease. 

He drops his hand, slides it up to brush innocently enough against her own. She notes his gesture, gives him a sideways glance. 

Her query probes in their heart-link, shadows under her eyes. Even narrowed, they’re beautiful, sapphire gems shrouded in shadows, eclipsing in the cold. _You’re not weak_ , he wants to say. _I just want to help_. 

They may have ditched their brighter colours for wintery whites, blues and blacks, but they were still out of place here. Xayah especially struggled with higher altitudes, with hills and rocky plains. 

Snow speckles her hair and ears, hardly noticeable with their winter colours, only really showing on the blue tips of her ears, the streak in her hair. _Sugar on sweet-breads_. Xayah shivers, then sneezes; Rakan’s stomach twists, cutting off his running monologue abruptly. _She can’t be left like this. It’s my purpose, after all._

He takes her hand. She makes a half-sound of stuffy protest, but then laces their fingers together, like simple companionship was still a forbidden thing. Her steps slow further in their pace, relenting to let him take the lead. 

Rakan’s not hopeful, but he tries. 

_“_ We’ve travelled far enough for the day. Time to rest, my love.” 

“No.” Briefly her hand tugs away from his, but gives up when he holds tight. “We’re not even close to the next commune. I needed to talk to the Fauswoon elder by the New Year. We’re already a week past it.” 

“Summer birds in snow. They’ll understand.” 

“They will be angry.” 

“Nah. Winter is a big celebration for them. They probably aren’t even aware of _the date_ right now.” 

She raises an eyebrow. 

“How do you know? Wait. Don’t answer that.” 

Her forehead crinkles, her red chapped nose wrinkles, then she sneezes, blocks it in her elbow. After she withdraws, she blinks, bleary-eyed. 

Snow continues to fall with heavy flakes. _Stormy weather_. 

“Are you sure?” 

Xayah’s voice is quieter. Her grip on his fingers tightens only a little. 

“Mhm. I’m sure.” He brushes the snow off her hair, her ears. He feels her agreement before she actually voices it, their link tentative, still novel even with several years behind it. 

“…Okay. Let’s find somewhere to rest.” She nods, hidden tones of relief in her voice. 

“That’s all I needed to hear!” 

She’s surprisingly pliant now, lets herself be led through the snow. Rakan stamps down a path, makes it easier for her to follow after him, their arms a tether. They get to the top of the icy hill, and Rakan rears his back straight, cranes his neck as he surveys the surroundings. 

_There_ . Plainland transitions into forest, on the other side of an iced over river. _Wouldn’t take long. Ten minutes, maybe twenty_. 

Xayah shivers, leans against his side. 

_Five minutes_ . 

“Want me to carry you?” 

The glare she sends him is a clear _no_. He relents, quick. 

“Okay never mind. We’re almost at a good spot for camp anyway.” 

They make it down the hill without slipping, continue treading through the drifts of thigh deep snow, then across the river though he can hear the ice crack under their feet. 

They don’t go deep into the tree cover, just far enough for it to provide some cover from the wind and blowing snow. Rakan stamps down a perimeter, then drops his bigger backpack. He sets up the tent in a hurry, pushes the poles down into the snow. He gestures for Xayah to go inside, and she does without much protest. 

_Next. Water_ . 

Rakan digs down to make a small pit in the snow, dashes back to the river, sweeps away snow on the riverbank with his foot and gathers an armful of rocks. He brings them back to their camp, makes a small fire pit. He strips twigs and moss from old trees, whispering his thanks to the earth aloud before returning and conjuring a small fire with his fingers. 

He fills their teapot with snow, sets it up over the fire. 

When he enters the tent, Xayah is sitting on their bedroll and sleeping bag, curled up over her knees, kneading at her forehead. No lantern is lit, no will-o-wisps scattered for dim lighting. Their keen eyesight would do just as well, once he adjusts. 

“Your head hurt?” He slinks over to her and sits down at her side. Xayah immediately leans against his flank, drops her head to rest against his shoulder. 

“Mhm.” She presses her forehead against him harder. Now out of the wind, it’s hot to the touch. He checks again, holding the back of his hand to her forehead _. She’s burning up_. 

His magic wouldn’t help such a thing. Rakan bristles slightly, Xayah shivering against him, still in her thick, drooping sweater. 

“Okay honey. Let’s get out of these wet clothes. Okay? I’ll help.” 

“You’re overreacting. It’s just a cold. I can undress myself.” 

She rolls her eyes, leans away from him, sitting up straight, making no further movement. _She’s waiting_ , Rakan realises, and he smiles. He unbuttons her sweater, then lifts it off her body. Unlike most of their clothes, their winter wear was not formed from magic. It’d need to dry off with everything else before he’d let her put it back on again. 

The blue sweater went first, then her double layered tunic, sliding it all off her body like a sodden second-skin. He reveals her pale flesh, covered in goosebumps, her feathers on her arms sticking up as a ward against the chill. He leaves her chest wraps for now, and helps pull off her leggings, drops them in the pile with everything else. Her leg and foot wraps he does quickly as possible, her teeth chattering setting him on edge. 

“Everything?” She asks. She continues to tremble, hugging her upper arms for heat. Rakan nods. 

“Everything.” 

He slides his fingers to her chest wrappings, released the droopy bow that lay flat against her sternum, and unwound her, turn by turn. Nothing new to them. The cotton slides across her skin and finally her breasts are free, small and soft, her nipples peaked and hard from the cold. Rakan tuts at her, resists the urge to pinch the sensitive buds. 

“I’m sorry sweetie, I know you’re cold.” 

Rakan hastily discards his own outerwear, leaving only his long johns, his wings in brushed shades of blue folding down against his back. His tail swishes against their bedding, impatient. 

“Skin-to-skin gives the most heat. The healers in my clan always told us the best way to deal with our sickness was to burn it away. Lots of blankets. Hot tea.” He pulls one of their extra blankets out of Xayah’s backpack, beckons her near. “Cuddles.” 

Rakan drapes the wool blanket over Xayah’s shoulders, pulls it over her, then lifts her up with steady arms onto his lap, facing him. She sinks against him, mostly bare, returns her head to rest against his neck, her long white tresses tumbling down her back like a waterfall, lying over the blanket, over her folded wings. 

“My love, do you want to groom you? We can go straight to bed if you’re tired.” 

“You -” she coughs twice, has to reach for her handkerchief, wipes her nose with it. After, she sinks back against him with a slow sigh. “-You said you would take care of me. So take care of me.” 

Rakan hums, a pleased rumble. _She loves it when I do that._

“My pleasure.” 

The kettle makes a light whistle. Rakan grimaces, ears swivelling towards the sound. 

“After I grab this.” 

Moving her off his lap and back onto the sleeping bag was harder than scaling a mountain, than battling a titan. But this was for _her_ , so he manages it. Rakan dashes outside to their small fire, grabs the kettle, then returns to the tent, setting down the kettle onto a flat of leather and kicking his long-johns off in less than ten seconds. 

_Ten seconds too long_ . 

He pours up two cups of hot water, snaps a piece of ginger root in his fingers, drops a piece each into both cups, follows it with a few juniper berries, then pours a generous dollop of honey into the one for Xayah. _Better the small amount we have left is kept for her_. 

Next, he wets one of their washcloths with some of the remaining hot water and brings it over to her. Xayah sluggishly wipes her hands and face with it, glides it quickly over her front, her privates. Rakan does himself in the time it takes her to wash her face. They weren’t going out of their way for a thorough sponge bath tonight. After she passes back the cloth, Rakan gives her a mug. She cups it in her hands, half hunching over it as she sips it. Siphoning the heat into her hands as well as her core. 

“Drink that my love. I’ll fix up your hair, your feathers.” 

Xayah doesn’t reply, just keeps sipping lowly at the tea. He rummages in their pack, pulls out a bristled hairbrush and a wild toothed enamel comb. The blanket he drapes down so her wings are exposed, so her hair is flowing free. He scoots so he’s sitting behind her, picks up the brush first. 

Each pull of the hairbrush has her head moving slightly with the movement, leaning into the strokes. He peers at her occasionally, just to make sure she’s still drinking at the tea. 

There’s a humming, a trill of their link. The mental equivalent of someone pacing endless lines, holding one’s breath, waiting for a touch, a _taste_. Rakan’s stomach growls at the thought of it, a reverb shared between them both. 

_Excited._ He realises _, she’s excited_. 

Rakan chuckles under his breath. 

“Would you like a story honey? Or a song? A ballad, or perhaps an extensive line of romantic poetry?” 

“Story.” She says quickly, then he hears an audible sip. 

“Origin?” The songs of many lives come to mind. Ones older than him, passed second hand, third hand, _fourth_ hand, to future generations. Those he loved most; they were precious, a dusty treasure on a shelf, but shone brighter with each telling until the songs were like new again. That was his job. 

Other are novel, still shaping. Still dangerous. These are ones he was _present_ for. 

“Something new. Something improv.” 

“Oh? That’s new for you.” 

_Xayah normally loves the tales from an older time. Our history, our stolen glory_ . 

“If you can’t...” 

“Nope! I’ve got one in mind.” 

The brush snags on a few knots; Rakan gently works them free and continues to stroke through her waist length hair. 

“There was once a fierce warrior, young and fearsome. She was a vagabond, her very origin a mystery to most that had the honour or bad luck to cross her path. Her name was Jay.” 

“Jay, huh?” Her tone is light, playfully amused. 

“Mhm. She wore her feathers dark, and travelled all around the continent, fighting for her kind’s freedom. However! She had one true weakness.” 

“Oh, let me guess - she was short, smaller than any Vastaya that ever lived.” 

“Not at all. Jay’s one weakness…. Was snow.” 

Xayah takes a particularly long sip from her tea. Rakan grins, hidden from her view. He finishes the last few strokes with the brush, then places it back down into their pack. 

“– Oh, sweetie, do you want me to braid your hair?” 

She hums in assent. Rakan moves his fingers back up to her scalp, starting at the top and pulling tight, working it all together. He divides it up into six separate strands, coils it around and down. Criss-crossing like an elaborate dance; wedding braids. _Only worn by claimed couples_. 

Butterflies fill his stomach; he gets to the nape of her neck before he stops, scratches at his cheek. _Probably shouldn’t_. He undoes it back to mid head, and changes his braiding to match, twisting it into itself until it holds. Then he switches to the wide comb and starts working through her feathers, restarting his tale. 

“Jay hated snow. It was the one adversary she couldn’t defeat! The drifts were too deep for her to walk through, reaching her waist easily. Every winter, she’d be forced inside, to hibernate somewhere in secret until she could travel uninhibited. Even if only small flakes were falling from the sky, Jay would start to feel trapped, and her mind would become consumed with thoughts of shelter. The cold, it snuck under her skin, her thin feathers, setting her small body in a deep chill she could never shake.” 

“Jay should learn fire magic.” Xayah says. 

“But then, one day in mid-spring, she rescued an _extraordinarily_ handsome and talented Vastaya, and as she freed him from his cage on the Noxian ship he promised to follow her forever, to repay his debt to her. Jay refused such a thing, she preferred to work alone. But Rae insisted. So he travelled alongside her for many months as their bond grew. Soon, winter came again. Jay told Rae about her needing to take refuge when the weather started. ‘That’s silly!’ Rae said, ‘I can just carry you.’” 

Rakan’s at her mid wing now, digging in his nails just _enough_ , as he knows she likes it. 

“’I’m not letting you carry me.’ Jay protested. ‘It’s embarrassing!’ So, Rae changed his tactics. ‘My wings are wide and long. How about I shield you from the snow?’ To this, Jay agreed, and she experienced her first winter in many years, with Rae’s wings held above her to block the snow, a living umbrella. It was the first winter where Jay did not feel the cold.” 

His hands are now at the base of her feathers, smoothing and aligning what’s left, then dropping in to walk a line down her spine, tips of his fingers tickling her short tailfeathers. He scoots himself to sit flush behind her, so he can place his chin over her shoulder. 

_No tea left in her cup, none left in mine either_ . He notes, pleased. She beat him to the punch, not needing to wait for him to offer it to her. 

Rakan rubs his cheek against the base of her neck, snaking one arm forward to hug her from behind, other hand busy lightly tracing around her tuft of tailfeathers. 

“I need Rae here.” Xayah says cheekily. “Maybe he’d keep me warmer.” 

Rakan growls lowly with the base of his throat, still hugging against her. Goosebumps rise up the back of Xayah’s neck, the small hairs there standing up. He smirks against her skin, places a kiss there. 

Bundled in the blanket, huddled small with the occasional cough, Xayah doesn’t seem intimidating. It still irks him, tugging at his spirit with an unignorable persistence. He moves them both over to the sleeping bag, helping her in first then slipping in after. They hunker down in the confined padding, tips of their ears barely reaching the opening of the sleeping bag. 

She wraps around him, hugging against his chest and pressing her face into his neck; a heat seeking-leech. Her leg finds its way between his, slides up to hide between his thighs. A second later, both her legs squeeze together, pressing in on his leg captured between her two. 

Even with her sick like this, he still senses it; that thrumming, that _hunger_. Cramped together, all he smells is her, the heat from their own bodies warming the space quickly. Xayah has finally stopped shivering, pressed against him. 

Rakan kisses her forehead, the top of her head. After those, she shifts and looks up at him, licks her lips. _Plump, pouty, pink from the cold_. His head is starting to feel fuzzy, the good kind, like that with a bottle of wine, or after inhaling zolin pollen. He could sing her song forever, stay here forever. _Whatever she says, whatever she wants_. 

“Are you done taking care of me? Or are you scared of getting sick?” Her lips stay open slightly, wanting. Anticipating. Her angled pupils are blown wide from the dark, or maybe something _more_ , her previous headache forgotten. Rakan dips lower, close enough that their lips almost touch. Her breath is warm, smells like the fresh tea. 

“Nah, I know you’d take care of me too.” He says gently. “Right?” 

She closes the distance, takes his mouth, her entire body tightening around where she holds him, pulling him in, eager to become one. When they finally separate from the kiss, she nudges her thigh slightly upwards, smiles smugly at him. _As if it was any kind of surprise_. Rakan chirps back at her, similarly pleased. Her fingernails dig into the back of his neck, summoning him back down as she winks. 

“I guess you’ll just have to find out.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Remember to stay hydrated this flu season, wash your hands often and try not to touch your face. See you all soon.


End file.
